


Never Been Robin

by infectedscrew



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M, Major Violence, Mild Gore, Never Been Robin AU, Psychological Trauma, Tim became a detective instead AU, Torture, cursing, mentions of abuse, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 09:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6798583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infectedscrew/pseuds/infectedscrew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an AU where Tim never became Robin, he fights to be one of Gotham PD's best detectives. Even in this universe he can't escape the Bat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Detective, the Commissioner wants to see you.”

No small amount of worry rocked down Tim’s throat to settle in his stomach. Getting called in by Jim Gordon could either go very well or very, very, very badly. Slowly, he lowered the case file to his desk and stood up. The straightening movement of his tie felt more like he was tightening a noose around his throat. Taking a steadying breath he walked the short distance to what could have been victory or doom.

“You wanted to see me, Commissioner?” He asked, stepping into the door.

Jim Gordon, salt and pepper distinguished looked up from his desk. He was standing, shoulders hunched and hands flat on the wood. Focusing on Tim, he stood up straight. “Yes, I did. Come in, don’t look like I’m about to chew your head off.”

“To be fair, sir, I heard what happened to Jefferson last week. We all did,” he commented lightly, moving in front of Jim’s desk.

There was a pause, as if Jim was trying to recalled just what had happened last week. Which was no surprise, in the last five days alone kidnapping and homicide had spiked. Granted it was early summer, it was perfect murder season for Gotham.

“So, what did you need me for, sir?”

Jim flipped out a rather thick packet to him. “This. Go ahead and open it.”

Tim reached forward and lifted the packet it. Opening the manila cover, he gagged almost instantly. Only years of training with the best poker face, stopped it from happening.

The pictures he was granted with were gruesome at best and down right gore at the worst. Sometimes it was amazing what humans could mange to do to each other. In the smallest of details, it looked like the victims had been mauled to death and then torn apart. It took more than five minutes before Tim could unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

“I’m guessing you want me to solve this,” he asked, silently regretting coming into work today. “Why me, though? This seems much more fitting for the senior officers.”

Jim nodded, his face drawn and serious. “In the past two years you’ve solved five of the worst murder cases of the decade. Including that series of girl slaughters. If there is anyone who can solve this, you can. You seem to have a penchant for the gruesome.”

Tim shuddered remembering the girls. He sighed, closing the file. “Am I getting help?” He asked.

Now that deeply knowing and amused look crossed Jim’s face. “Of course, you just might not like it.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “Its coming from the Bat, isn’t it?”

Another nod from Jim and then a second envelope was passed over.

A little unwillingly, Tim lifted it up. He sighed softly, tucking it in with the other file. “Fine. I’m taking this case.”

“I knew you would. Get Montoya, will you?”

And that was how Tim knew this conversation was over. “Of course.” He headed toward the door and paused. “You know I’m supposed to be catching the Bat and all his birds, right?”

Jim arched an eyebrow. “Five murders in two years, without help,” he reminded Tim. “You and I both know you’re not actually trying.”

Tim was quiet a moment. “Hey, we’ve all got our appearances to keep up,” he answered and slipped out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Five days later, Tim had visited every crime screen, twice. There wasn’t much to find other than ridiculous amounts of blood and half-usable clues. It was frustrating, not even Batman’s clues helped. And he’d gone over those to the point of memorization. A small headache was starting to build and he was very sure it wouldn’t leave until he solved it.

“Having trouble, newbie?”

Tim looked up in to the lightly smiling face of Renee Montoya. “Only a little,” he replied.

She chuckled. Hooking her foot in the chair next to him and spinning around, she plopped down. “Rumor is this case is too blood to get clues.”

Tim nodded, sipping his sixth cup of tea. “I can’t get anything. Neither can Batman, if that tells you anything.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Not even Batman?” At Tim’s head shake, she let out a low whistle. “Wow, must be bad. Mind if I look?” She asked.

Tim shook his head a second time. “Go for it. Warn you, its gross.”

“Please, I live in Gotham.”

They both shared an expression of agreement. He slid the file over, only slightly thicker than when Jim had given it to him. She flipped it open. There was a long pause as her face stayed carefully blank. Then, slowly, she closed it, lowered it to the desk and slid it back.

“Yup, that’s pretty gross.”

Tim chuckled humorlessly. “No kidding. And I’ve seen it in person.”

“You should take a break. Sitting at your desk or running around to those scenes isn’t going to do you any good. Come on, a couple of us are going down to the bar. You should join.” She paused, looking him over. “You are legal, right?”

“Har, har. Yes,” he answered, sarcastically. “I’m twenty three for your information.”

She looked genuinely shocked. “Really? Man, you’re tiny. You need to eat more.”

Tim shot her a grumpy expression. She laughed, lifting her hands. “Come on, baby boy. Let’s get some beer in you.”

Knowing that he really did need a break, Tim pushed himself out of his chair. He slid on his jacket and followed Montoya out of the building.

-/-

Two hours and seven drinks later, Dicato and Brown were regaling the group with anecdotes from their childhoods. Although every other word was followed by a tirade of laughter, it was a little hard to get the stories straight.

“No, no… You didn’t do that. I did that,” Brown corrected, pushing her thick, brown hair back from her face.

Dicato shook his head. “No, I’m very sure it was me. You’re the one who sat in the dog shit, remember?”

The two roared with mirth.

Tim shook his head, sipping his drink. This wasn’t helping his headache. Setting his glass down, he stood up. He didn’t get a step in before Montoya caught his arm. “I’m not leaving,” he assured her. “I’m just going to the bathroom.”

Once he was released, he managed to get another few steps before he was stopped a second time. This time, a much larger man backed into his chest almost knocking them both to the ground.

“Excuse me,” he said irritably.

The man turned and Tim instantly froze. He knew that face. Of course he did, he’d been living next door to it since he was eight years old. If four acres apart could be considered neighbors. That was also the face he’d been determined to keep the public from knowing the secret of. He'd known exactly who Dick Grayson was since he was eight, the change from Robin to Nightwing hadn't altered that in the least.

“Oh, sorry man,” Dick Grayson spoke smoothly and cheerfully. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He paused, focusing on Tim. “Hey, I know you.”

Tim swallowed. “Yeah?” He asked less smoothly. Later he’d berate himself for awkward attempts at social interaction.

Dick nodded. “Yeah. You’re that new detective. The one that solved the Doll Girl murders,” he said after a long suffering silence.

Something tightened in Tim’s temple and just behind his sternum. Dick didn’t remember living next door. How could he? He had a busy night life after all. Not wanting to appear rude, Tim nodded.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

Dick beamed. “Keep up the good work,” he said, patting Tim’s shoulder before moving off.

Tim completely forgot about the bathroom. He’d almost forgotten about the bar and what he did for a living. That was until his phone went off, the ring jarring and knocking him back to reality.

“Drake,” he answered efficiently.

“Detective,” Jim’s voice came back to him. His tone was clipped, which never meant good news. “There’s been another victim. Get down to Emerson.”

Tim sighed. So much for a break.


	3. Chapter 3

The only thing that set this scene apart from the rest was the fact that the victim was found in an alley way and not a run down apartment.

“Does that help or hinder us?” Jim asked, arms crossed and frowning down at the mutilated mess that was once a human being.

Tim was crouching down by the pile of twisted entrails. With one hand over his mouth, he carefully picked through the muscles. “It could help,” he said, voice muffled by the cloth. “There could be witnesses this time.”

Jim scoffed, looking around the alley. “In this part of town?”

“Someone called it in.”

“It could have been the murderer.”

Tim stood up, lowering his hand and slipping the glove off of his hand. “That’s true.”

“The murderer didn’t call.”

The two police officers stilled and looked up. Batman watched them from a fire escaped, frowning and as serious as the plague. Tim frowned right back and arched an eyebrow.

“How do you know?” He asked.

The vigilante shifted and dropped down next to him. He flicked out his hand, offering a picture. “The caller is Kendra Wilson of the apartment 3B. She’s got three kids and two jobs. She called because her son was talking about playing with the victim.”

Tim grimaced, taking the photo. “All right. What’s this?” He and Jim looked down at it. Turning it over was a name scrawled in rather neat hand writing.

“The victim.”

Tim’s eyes widened and he looked up quickly, only to find no trace of the hero. He supressed and urge to growl. “Does he always do that?” He asked.

Jim nodded, looking amused despite the situation. “You’ll get used to it.” He turned back to the crew around them. “Hey! Jefferson, Freeman, you and your crew get this mess checked, cleaned and sent to the lab.”

The two men agreed and turned to call their team into action.

“And Jefferson,” Jim called, tone already warning. “Don’t let me catch you making fun of the crime scene again.”

Jefferson nodded slowly, face sheepish.

Jim shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m calling it in. Barbara’s birthday is tomorrow.”

Tim slipped the photo into his jacket. He looked to Jim. “Tell her Happy Birthday for me. I’ll send some flowers.”

“You don’t have to. Are you staying?”

“Yeah. It’s an alley way, that means we need more people to look.”

Jim shook his head. “You make sure you get some rest, Tim. Sleep is considered a good thing, you know.”

Tim waved him off. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

The older man turned and headed off. He’d been working this job too long and had seen far too much. He just hoped Tim didn’t get sick of it early. He needed a brain like that on his team. But he’d worry about that later. For now, he needed to find a store and quick. He wasn’t going to forget Barbara’s cake a second year in a row.

“Drake,” Jefferson called. “You’re in the way.”

Tim moved aside. “Right, sorry.” He knew Jefferson didn’t like him. The man had been angry since Tim had solved his first case. Whatever jealousy the man held, he wasn’t going to let it get in the way of his work.

“You any closer to solving this?” Jefferson asked, directing his crew into gathering up what was left of the victim.

Tim shook his head. “Not even. This guy isn’t normal. He isn’t even playing with us. Its like he’s just killing for the sheer enjoyment of killing. It’s disgusting.”

Jefferson smirked. “Welcome to Gotham.” He snapped at his men and they moved everything back to the car. “Don’t get shot,” Jefferson offered as they got ready to leave.

Tim sighed. “I’ll do my best. Hey, when is Montoya’s group getting here?”

“Soon, I’ll bet.” Jefferson headed out.

Tim looked down at the blood stain. Slowly, he pulled the photo out of his jacket. She was young, the woman who smiled back at him. He flipped it over, reading the name a half dozen times.

“Allison Cryll,” he mumbled. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.

For a long moment, he stood, eyes closed and breathing in the sharp, metallic scent of blood and dirt. Finally he lowered his hand and stared at the ground. He staring for so long that he wasn’t really sure what he was looking at anymore. And then it hit him.

A ring. A wedding ring, dull from blood and scratched from abuse.

Tim knelt down and lifted it up. He turned it over in the tiny light that he had. None of the other victims had had jewelry or clothing of any kind. This was a mistake, on the killer’s part. Silently he hoped that it was would be the mistake that would get them closer to catching this mad man.

So stuck on this ring and what it could mean, Tim didn’t notice the figure sidling up behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

“Put your hands up and stand up slowly.”

Tim frowned, looking over his shoulder. Now, he’d seen quite a few guns. He did work in a police station. He just wasn’t quite so used to seeing one so close to his face. Slipping the ring into his pocket, he turned slowly.

The gun shook. “I said slow,” the man snapped, hand shaking.

Tim lifted his hands. “It’s all right. I’m going slow,” he said carefully. He stood up as slowly as he could. He should have expected this really. Stuck in the East End by himself in a dark alley. How he hadn’t been jumped as soon as Jefferson left was a small miracle.

“Drop your gun,” the man demanded.

It took serious effort to not look disappointed by that statement. Tim lowered one hand to his side. He lifted the gun out of its holster.

The assailant gripped his gun in both hands, watching him closely.

“I’m going to put it down,” Tim informed him, lowering the gun to the ground. He kicked it away.

“Give me all of your money,” he hissed, the gun lowered to Tim’s chest.

“Now that’s rude, aren’t you going to say please?”

The criminal and victim blinked at each other before looking up, right into the grinning face of Bludhaven’s personal hero.

Tim swallowed, frozen again. Second time he’d run into the man that night and neither of them had been very good situations. At least he didn't consider running into someone in a bathroom threshold good.

The criminal swung his gun up to point but he’d barely been able to tighten his finger before Nightwing launched down at him. The man slammed to the dirt encrusted floor, gun flying out of his hand. He shrieked something unintelligent, scrambling to get away.

Dick’s hand curled around the back of the man’s filthy jacket, yanking him back. “Ah, ah. You need to apologize to the nice officer.” He jerked the man back around to face Tim, whose face was stuck in a cartoonish expression of shock. “Now apologize.” He shook the man.

“S-sorry!”

“It won’t happen again?” Dick asked.

The man shook his head. “No! Won’t happen again!”

“Good.” Dick let go of his jacket. “Get out of here,” he stated, voice dropping to a level that rivaled Batman.

The would-be criminal bolted out of the alley. He wouldn’t sin again, not without the deep paranoia that Batman or one of his lackeys would be there.

Dick turned back to Tim, hands on his hips. “Are you all right, Officer?”

It was taking a rather serious amount of time for Tim’s brain to catch up. He nodded numbly, hands still held up and posture rigid.

“Are you sure?” Dick asked, masked face clearly torn between amusement and concern.

Tim shook his head and nodded within seconds of each other. “I mean, yes. Sorry, yes, I’m fine,” he said, eloquently.

Dick stared at him, the lens’ making his thoughts unreadable. “If you’re sure… You can lower your hands now.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Tim lowered his hands, feeling foolish. He was normally so much more graceful than this. Then again, it wasn’t everyday he ran into his neighbor/childhood hero. Let alone twice in one day.

“Have you ever been held at gun point before? You seem rather new to this,” Dick teased.

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, once before.”

“Maybe you should head home. Batman needs your help on this case, the last thing he wants is you dead.” Dick reached over to grip Tim’s shoulder briefly.

Before Tim could offer his thanks, Dick lifted his arm and shot off into the night. Tim watched him go, thoughts running a thousand miles an hour. He shook his head. He needed sleep, that was just embarrassing.

Sending a quick text to Montoya, he headed home. He’d make it up to her by bringing doughnuts to work tomorrow or something.

-/-

Only Tim forgot about the doughnuts the following morning. He’d gotten into work and was promptly reminded about the ring still in his pocket. Unfortunately for Montoya, he locked himself in the lab until lunch, ensuring the fact that she would never get her taste morning treat.

“Damn newbies,” she muttered into her coffee, flipping through the case notes.


	5. Chapter 5

The ring didn’t offer nearly as much as he hoped, but it was a start. For one, there was a small hair stuck in between the small diamond and the teeth holding it in place. And it didn’t belong to the victim. Five hours in the lab and a full day agonizing over it, didn’t yield much for Tim. All he knew was that the hair belonged to a white male and didn’t drink enough milk, judging from the state of the hair.

Tim sighed, slumping over the desk. His nose crushed up against the pile of papers he’d been reading for the hundredth time. It didn’t make it any easier to read. Not that he really needed to. He knew all four files front to back. Every detail was etched in his mind and wasn’t going to let go. He scoured every inch of the case, the crime scenes, the paper work and the bodies.

Although the images of the bodies had been the worst part. Each victim had been systematically torn apart, starting with their throats. Whoever the murderer was, he wanted to cause as much pain as possible before the person expired. And then he didn’t stop. He shredded what was left, throwing them about each crime scene like some kind of sick party favor.

It was enough to turn even the toughest cops stomach.

When this was over, Tim was going to lock himself in his apartment and marathon Disney movies for a week straight. He’d only come out if he ran out of ice cream or chocolate.

Sitting up straight, he closed the file. He was going to have to do something drastic before this case was over, he just knew it. He just hoped it didn’t involve a Bat or a Bird.

Something tapped his back. He lifted his head and looked. “Brown, what is it?”

“Mail,” she answered, handing it over. “That looks like a Wayne invite,” she commented as he lifted a rather official looking envelope from his stack.

“I hope not. I hate going to those charities.”

Brown was curious. “Charities?” She asked.

Tim nodded, slitting open the invite and flipping it out. “My dad owns Drake Companies. He wanted me to take over but, as you can see, I didn’t.”

Brown was quiet a second. “Wait, you’re that Timothy Drake? The one that got on the cover of Forbes magazine?” She gasped, staring at him.

Tim glowered at his desk and looked to her. “Yes, that’s me.”

She stared, mouth open slightly. “Wow… You look so different. I’d say it’s because of lack of sleep.” She playfully hit his shoulder. “Go on, go to the charity. Who knows, maybe you’ll pick up a rich hottie.”

“God, I hope not.”

Tim returned to his work, writing up every clue he head and calling out witnesses. When he couldn’t get anything else, he returned to the East End.

He went back to the alley way, much more careful of his surroundings this time. There wasn’t much else to discover. The city had officially closed it off, keeping it free of street urchins and drug dealers. But the thing that was really keeping it from getting tampered with was Catwoman. She owned the East End and no one went anywhere without her say so.

Which meant no one, other than official police got in. Something Tim was very grateful for. He was lucky she was just as invested in the case the PD was, otherwise the scene would be gone within minutes.

Sitting down next to the rotted dumpster, Tim frowned at the almost completely gone blood stain. The longer he stared at it the more he noticed strange things with it. Something clicked and he yanked out his phone.

“Jim? Yeah, I’m back in the East. Yes, I have my gun,” he spoke, annoyed. “Hey, not important. I think I just figured something out.”

There was a pause from the other end, then Tim explained quickly.

“The victim was moved. The blood stain that’s here, only part of it is new. And it looks like it's just from whatever happened to pool from the body parts. I don’t see any foot prints, we’re not that lucky. But that means the other victims might have been moved too. And we’re now looking for a murderer who could have been in walking distance of any of these places.”

Another pause as Jim took it all in. He asked one question.

“Sir, if we’re lucky he’ll be on camera. Does Batman still run surveillance?

-/-

It took serious convincing and promises of more than one box of doughnuts and an insistence that all reports would be done by the end of the week, until Jim Gordon agreed to call on Batman.

“Fine, but we wait until night time. I don’t exactly have his cell number on speed dial,” Jim muttered. As much as he liked Batman, he hated asking for his help. It made things awkward with the media.

Tim nodded. “That’s fine. I figured I’d run my own tapes. Plus, I finally got a hold of the third victims Ex Wife.”

Jim sat up a little straighter behind his desk. “Did you? What did she say?”

“Nothing. Yet. All I’ve gotten is that they had one kid, it ended badly and she now lives in Central City.”

“Did you contact Central PD?”

Tim gave another nod. “Yes, they handed me over to a lab guy named Barry Allen. He seems helpful enough. We’ll see what he can dig up on her.”

Jim sighed, sitting back. “You think you’re actually going to solve this case?”

The two stared at each other as Tim thought about that question. Finally he gave a third nod. “I have to, sir. I’m too young to hit my first Black Dahlia.”

Jim rubbed his temples. “I guess you’re right. But everyone has one. I got mine when I was thirty.”

“The Todd case, right?”

Everyone knew about Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne’s second ward. The kid had literally shown up out of now where. Some street rat who had gotten himself into the Wayne Manor. But he’d disappeared as quickly as he came. The media was told that it had been a terrible car accident and was more than happy to eat it up. That was until an anonymous individual called foul play and sent letters to every news station in Gotham.

Jim Gordon was Senior Criminal Analyst then and he was hoping that this could be the one case to get him to Commissioner. But he hadn’t gotten anything. Not a single clue and Bruce Wayne couldn’t offer anymore than what they already had.

Since joining the force, Tim could never bring himself to tell Jim anything about the Wayne's nightlife and what he believed had really happened to Jason.

“Right. So, yeah, I suppose you got time.”


	6. Chapter 6

“So… This new detective.”

Bruce looked way from his computer to the new comer. “What about him?”

“What’s your big interest?” Dick asked, propping a hip against the massive equipment. He crossed his arms over his chest, blue stripes thrown into sharp relief over tight muscles. “You don’t follow someone for two weeks unless there is something you want.”

Bruce frowned ever so slightly, looking back at the screen. “He’s good.”

Dick’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s it? He’s good.”

“Too good.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Six murders in two years. Four of which he didn’t get help from me,” Bruce answered. Flicking through all of the files he had on Tim Drake. Which was, shockingly little.

Dick shook his head. “So you’re following him because you’re jealous he solved them before you.”

“I am not so petty, Dick.”

“Right.” Dick turned to the screen. “What do we know about him? Dad’s a self made millionaire. His mom was a famous archaeologist who died in Haiti. Dad remarried when Little Drake was sixteen…” Dick trailed off reading. “Whoa, he graduated highschool at sixteen?”

“He could have graduated earlier, judging from all of his teachers comments. He decided not to.”

“Why would he decide that?”

“To appear normal.”

Dick could understand that. He continued reading. “Finished college twenty. Completed police academy at 21 and has been on the force ever sense… Huh, quite the little genius. I can’t imagine he gets out to have fun much.”

Bruce shot Dick a look. Dick lifted his hands.

“You met him the other night. What is he like?”

Dick lowered his hands to his hips. “Well… Shy, actually. Or not used to talking to supremely attractive people.”

Another look and Dick rubbed the back of his neck.

“Right, sorry. Anyway, he’s kind of stiff. Like a mini version of you, actually.”

Bruce shook his head, not sure how to take that comment. He leaned back in his chair. “He’s being followed.”

Dick blinked. Without the mask, his surprise was obvious. “He is, how do you know?”

“Because I’ve been keeping track of him.” The ‘duh’ couldn’t haven been more audible if Bruce said it.

“Why haven’t you stopped the would-be stalker.”

“Because I need more facts. I need to know who this man is.”

Dick frowned. “Bruce, this could get him in serious trouble.”

“It won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

Dick pushed off of the console to head upstairs. “Fine, but if this Little Drake ends up in the hospital, you know it’ll be on you, right?”

There was silence behind him.

Dick looked back. He shifted his weight. “You’re going to ask for something, aren’t you?”

“Get close to him. Ever since the media reported that he’s close to catching the murderer, I’ve been… Concerned. I want you to get close to him and keep him safe.”

Dick groaned. “Come on, can’t you just stay as his ever vigilante shadow? Like some kind of freaky guardian angel?”

“No. I have other tasks. I can’t waste time watching over him. I’m entrusting this to you.”

And that conversation was over. Dick grumbled, turning and heading upstairs. He silently prayed that Alfred had made some pie and that Damian hadn’t thrown it out in an attempt to make the family more healthy.


	7. Chapter 7

The following night, Robin met the new detective for the first time. He frowned at the tiny male, taking in his pale skin and rather exhausted expression. He didn’t know why his father cared about him so much. He didn’t look that important. He looked like a slight breeze could knock him down, if he was honest.

Damian crossed his arms. He had the distinct impression that Tim knew too much.

“Brought the whole team, huh, Batman?” Jim joked, looking over the trio. Next to him, Tim was standing with a rather unreadable expression.

“This detective is determined to discover our identities, it’s only prudent to make sure we are protected,” Damian cut in, firmly reminding his father that Tim was part of the task force built to discover the Batman's secret identity.

Jim chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s all right. I was just commenting.”

Batman turned his head to look at Tim. “You are asking for my help?”

Tim nodded, throat working against whatever nerves that he was fighting so hard to hide. “All of the victims have been moved. From where ever they were killed, whether they were separate places or a singular places, we don’t know yet.”

Nightwing, who was leaning against the famous Bat Signal, frowned. “How do you know they were moved?”

“The blood stain patterns,” Tim answered, looking at him with an expression Damian couldn’t place but he was sure he didn’t like it. “For the amount of blood lost, they didn’t match up.”

“Got ya. So, what did you need Batman’s help for?”

Tim looked back to Batman. “You have cameras all over this city,” he stated.

The slight tension in his father’s shoulders told Damian that he hadn’t been expecting that statement. It instantly put Damian on edge. He didn’t like this new detective as is, meeting him in person was not helping.

“I need to know if you spotted the murderer anywhere near where the victims were dropped off. Whether it was in a vehicle or if he was on foot.”

Batman nodded slowly. “Any other clues?”

Tim opened his mouth, closed it and shook his head. “No. Thats all we’ve got. Oh well… And a ring.”

“A ring?” Batman repeated.

“Yeah. Yes," Tim amended. "The at the last victim, Allison's crime scene a ring was recovered. We know it doesn't belong to her because neither her roommate nor her mother could ID it for us.”

Another nod from Batman, if the tiny head twitch could even be considered a nod. “I’ll have the surveillance in three days.”

“Three days?” Jim repeated. “No sooner?”

“Considering how many crime scenes there are and how many different directions the murderer could have come from, that’s a pretty generous time set,” Nightwing answered, amiable as always.

Tim shook his head. “It’s fine. I can't move further on this case. Unless another victim shows up, I’m not in much of a hurry.”

“Shouldn’t you be in a hurry?” Damian demanded. “To make sure no more victims arise?”

Tim looked down at him but didn't seem all that annoyed. “Rushing things would only produce poor results. I am hoping that the murderer is running scared.”

Damian snorted. A rather terrible police man, he decided. He preferred people who were more proactive.

“Wait, are you the one who told the media that you were close to solving this case?” Nightwing asked.

Tim nodded. “Yes. It was a calculated risk to make him think we were close to check him. He made a mistake by leaving the ring. Considering how meticulous this man is, he must have noticed. If he hears that he is getting closed in on, there is a chance that he’ll start making more mistakes.”

“You’re not worried about another victim?” Damian asked.

Tim hesitated, glancing once at Jim who gave him an encouraging nod. “I’m very worried. I’m just hoping that the man is paranoid and will show himself out of stupidity before another victim arises.”

Damian opened his mouth to question Tim’s ideas of ‘good work’ before Bruce’s hand dropped on his shoulder. He closed his mouth and glowered.

“I’ll be back here in three days with whatever I find. Should you need to contact us, Nightwing will answer.”

“I will, thank you.”

Dick lifted his hand in a friendly wave, Tim gave him a nod.

Jim rolled his shoulders. “Well, see you later Batman.” He turned to shut off the signal. When their eyes adjusted to the darkness, all three were gone.

“I’m still not used to it yet," Tim muttered and Jim chuckled.

-/-

“Father, I do not understand why I have to go to this charity,” Damian complained as Alfred fixed his neck tie, the horrid thing that it was.

“Because, we’re Wayne’s and we need to look good for the public,” Dick answered, running a hand through his styled hair.

Damian frowned at him. “You’re only coming so you can keep an eye on that Drake.”

Dick shrugged. “Sue me, he’s got a nice butt.”

“Repulsive, Grayson,” Damian shot back at him. “You just have to stay close to him, not bed him.”

Dick frowned and was about to speak when he was cut off.

“Boys,” Bruce interjected. He was already slipping into 'Brucie’. Not a year into the living in the Manor and Damian fervently hated that persona. “We have to look nice and happy for the guests. Come on.”

Charities were never fun, for anyone involved. It was just a bunch of rich people milling about a small room and pretending to like each other. The only thing that made it slightly better this time was the fact that Dick was quite determined to get Tim Drake, new detective and current concern of Bruce Wayne, to talk to him and, possibly, to drink until he was drunk.

Damian disapproved of this quite heavily and stuck in the back with the white haired girl and the eye patch. She was much better company anyway.

“Come on, Timmy, its for charity,” Dick said, pressing a glass of a strangely pink drink into his hand. It was the second time he'd tried to start an interaction with Tim, the first time only involved awkward greetings and heavy silences. In the end, Dick had had to shuffle off when an older woman had called his name.

Now he was trying again, drinks in hand.

Tim looked flustered and more than a little uncomfortable. He wasn’t a social drinker, even less so when the person offering was Dick Grayson. Still he hated to appear impolite. He took the glass.

“So, how is the case going?” Dick asked conversationally, watching Tim over the rim of his glass.

“Quite well,” Tim answered, taking a sip of his drink more out of nervousness than any actual thirst. He was pleased to find it was rather sweet. “We’re getting closer. Hopefully we’ll have it solved by the end of the month.”

Dick nodded. “That’s good. I had heard on the news that you were close. Aren’t you worried the murderer might try to get you?”

Tim gave him a look. “That sort of thing only happens in the movies,” he answered. Some part of his mind was reeling over the fact that he was talking to Dick Grayson, former neighbor and childhood hero and current nighttime fantasy.

“Hey, you never know. It could happen,” Dick replied, smiling despite the topic. He topped Tim’s glass off when he noticed it was half way gone. “So, you used to live next door?”

Tim swallowed his drink a little strangely. “Uh, y-yeah. I did, until my dad wanted to move into the city.”

“Right, yeah. You know I think I remember you.”

Tim took a massive gulp of his drink. He’d come over to Wayne Manor on more than one occasion and none of them had really been something he wanted to talk about. Especially the worst moment when he’d fallen in the back pond and had had to walk all the way over to the front door to ask Alfred for help retrieving his left shoe. 

“Oh crap,” he mumbled.

“No, nothing bad. Unless you count the soaked pants incident,” Dick laughed.

The laugh was warming in its own way. Or that could have been the drink that kept getting mysteriously refilled. Not that Tim was complaining. It certainly made it easier to speak to the older male.

“Do you want to come back to my apartment?” Tim asked after an hour of mysterious drink refilling and story-trading of police work, growing up around the Manor and Gotham. He was feeling quite content and happy. It was an impulsive decision borne only from the fact that he didn't want to stop talking to Dick. He was finally talking to the man that had consumed a lot of his thoughts growing up and, selfishly, he wanted to keep talking to him. Otherwise he probably never would have asked.

Dick blinked at him. He smiled around his drink. It was a secret smile that Tim couldn't decipher even if he was sober. He didn’t think it’d be that easy to get close to Tim. “Sure. I’d love to.”


	8. Chapter 8

Tim’s back was pressed against his door almost as soon as he had closed it. Not that he minded, considering the hard, strong heat that covered his front side. His hands tangled in thick, black hair, pulling Dick closer and deepening their already impossibly messy kiss.

Dick’s hands slid down, cupping Tim’s ass and hauling him up. He kept pulling until Tim got the hint and wrapped his legs around Dick’s waist. Holding Tim close, he stumbled backward until the managed to make it to Tim’s bedroom. He turned, dropping the slender male unto the smooth blankets.

Tim looked up at him, a little daze and cheeks red. Maybe at some point his mind would wake up and remind him that Dick was only ever supposed to be a fantasy. Right now, he was just glad to ride the wave that was Dick Grayson. He eagerly returned to kissing the older man.

“So eager,” Dick chuckled, crawling over him. He pressed down on him, covering Tim’s body with his own. He nipped at his lower lip, sucking at the already swollen flesh.

A quiet moan left Tim, his hands tightening in Dick’s hair. “W-we don’t have to continue,” he got out between kisses and pants.

Dick sat back quickly. “Do you not want to?” He asked, a little concerned.

Tim shook his head. “No, I do. I mean, I’ve wanted to for awhile. And–”

That was all Dick needed before he crushed their mouths together again. Later he'd question what exactly Tim meant. For now he had more pressing matters to ponder upon. One hand worked at the buttons of Tim’s dress shirt, sliding it off and away. Tim helped in his own way, his hands sliding down Dick’s chest to remove his suit.

When they were both finally shirtless, Dick pulled back again. He chuckled at Tim’s disappointed expression. He soothed his hair back. “Wow, you have wanted this,” he teased. In the back of his mind, he was already throwing himself into a massive guilt trip or maybe he was at war deciding how he felt about the man he was currently straddling. He was supposed to get close, sure, but probably not this close. Still, he couldn't bring himself to be upset. He was curious and interested in the detective in front of him, certainly more interested than he had been in anyone in a long time.

Tim looked sheepish, he nodded.

“Then I’ll make sure you never forget,” Dick promised.

Slowly, teasingly, Dick slid down Tim’s legs. His nimble fingers caught the buttons and pulled the pants down. He licked the obvious bulge through the tight black briefs. He smirked at the stunted moan he heard above him. Yanking down the briefs, Dick caught the tip between his lips and sucked.

“Oh!” Tim gasped, gripping the sheets. His hips twitched, a small effort to stay still.

Dick swallowed him down, tongue pressing against the thick vein. His cheeks hollow as he works Tim over. He moved a hand to curl around the base, squeezing. The quiet moans were all he needed to know that he was succeeding. Slowly he started to bob, setting a cruel, tight pace.

“D-dick! Wait,” Tim groaned, reaching to tug on his hair. “Wait, don’t. I don’t want to get closer.”

Dick pulled off, licking his lips. “No? Then what do you want?”

If Tim’s face was red before it certainly was now. “You… You know.”

Dick arched an eyebrow. He smirked, “no, I don’t think I do.”

“Dick,” Tim whined. “Please don’t make me say it.”

“All right, all right. I won’t.” He sat up to give Tim a quick, comforting kiss. “Do you have any lube?”

Tim nodded, he stretched up and over into his nightstand. He shivered as Dick ran his hands over Tim’s stomach and chest.

“You’re pretty well built for a cop.”

Tim settled back down and gave Dick a look that held far too many secrets for someone under the influence. “I could say the same to you. Need I ask about the scars?”

For a split second Dick wondered just how much Tim knew. He grinned brightly instead and took the bottle. He shoved his pants down and off, dropping on the floor with his shirt. Flipping the cap open he poured it onto his hand. He reached down and teased Tim’s entrance, instantly distracting him.

“C-come on, no more teasing,” Tim panted.

Carefully, Dick pushed in two fingers; quietly he was surprised to find how easy it was. He stretched slowly, gently, watching Tim’s face. Tim seemed to slowly losing himself to bliss and the drunken haze brought on by alcohol. When he started to move his hips against Dick’s hand, Dick knew he was ready. He pulled his hand away.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got something better,” he reassured when Tim threatened to look disappointed again.

Pouring more lube onto his hand, Dick covered himself. He shifted between Tim’s legs, spreading them slightly. He kissed Tim into distraction in what had to be the messiest, wettest and most insanely hot kiss Dick had ever been apart of. Especially with the way Tim was moaning into it and how tightly he gripped Dick’s shoulders. It was only so much sweeter when he finally pushed inside Tim and the tight heat trapped him.

He groaned against Tim’s mouth, thrusting shallowly. Steadily he started to rock faster, hips snapping forward and earning a sharp moan almost every time. He tilted his hips ever so slightly and the cry that rang out almost made him spill over the edge.

“Oh, God!” Tim rocked under him, eyes closed and mouth open.

Dick had to keep his eyes open and watch as the stiff detective unraveled under him. He moved a hand down to grasp Tim’s neglected manhood. He stroked the man in time to his thrusts, groaning as the heat tightened around him.

“Dick! God, Dick, I’m so close.”

Dick leaned over, hand tight and thrusts sharp. He nipped Tim’s ear, whispering for him to let go.

It didn’t take more than one more thrust before Tim spilled between them, a harsh cry echoing from his throat.

Dick moaned as it got too tight to move. His hips shuddered and he dropped off the edge, filling the heat.

When the haze of sex had passed away, Dick found himself staring at a ceiling he didn’t recognize, with a slim body pressed against his side. Lifting his head, he looked down. A small smile pulled over his features.

“Good?” He asked, brushing sweaty hair back.

Tim nodded. “Yes, thank you,” he replied sleepily.


	9. Chapter 9

Tim woke with pain in more places than he cared to admit. He groaned, lifting a hand to his head.

“Don’t drink much do you?”

Tim’s muscles tightened to breaking point. He turned his head to the left and was met with a far too cheerful expression. His eyes widened. “Dick Grayson?” He asked, tongue tripping over itself.

Dick nodded, amused by the use of his full name. His smile dropped slightly into something guilty and sheepish. “Uh, yeah… So about last night.”

“Last night,” Tim repeated. And that’s when it hit him like blunt force trauma. He groaned again and dropped back into the pillows, hands covering his face. “I am so sorry,” he said, muffled by his hands. “I don’t do that. Ever. That’s not me.”

Dick scratched his head. “No, I know. I didn’t think you would. Uhm…” Dick paused, swallowing multiple times. “I should be apologizing. I make a point not to sleep with drunk people.”

Tim pulled his hands away from his face and looked over at Dick. That sentence hurt more than it should. “But you did last night,” he said, worry sinking into his gut.

Dick nodded. “Yeah. It’s just… I couldn’t really help myself. You’re pretty hot when you want to be. And, well, we hit it off last night. So I thought…”

Slowly, ignoring the slight pain in his lower backside, Tim sat up. He looked down at Dick. “I liked it,” he admitted. “It’s just… I really don’t do this normally. If ever.” He dropped his hands into his lap and focused his attention on them. “I’ve liked you since I was eight and we became neighbors. I became a cop because of your story, what happened to you.”

Dick’s curiosity was caught. He hadn’t even asked but Tim was spilling it all. He sat up as well, watching the man across from him. It was weird to think he’d shaped someone’s life so fundamentally.

“And then when I finally became a cop, I was determined to make sure I was good at it. Something you would be proud of. So last night was sort of a fantasy come true," Tim explained, avoiding looking at Dick.

Dick was quiet for a long moment. He reached over, tipping Tim’s head up. He smiled. “It was sort of a fantasy for me too.” He leaned forward giving Tim a reassuring kiss.

It didn’t last long before Tim pulled back. “You too? What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve been hearing about you for two weeks, nonstop. To finally meet you, officially, and get to have sex with you. It’s kind of amazing," Dick replied, grinning again.

Tim’s stared and a split second later, his face went bright red. “S-so, would you want to… Again, maybe?”

Dick nodded. “Sure. I’d love to. But, for now, you’re late for work.”

Tim looked over his shoulder at the alarm clock. He cursed quietly and bolted out of bed. His shower was record time, closely followed by getting dressed.

“I’m sorry. I really have to go. Can you show yourself out?” Tim asked, apologizing over and over.

Dick waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. See you.”

“Bye!”

When the door closed behind Tim, Dick sighed and lay back. He’d started this for Bruce, agreed out of obligation. Now?

Now he needed to know more about Tim Drake, the youngest detective and just what the other man held in secret. Dick was hooked and he didn't even feel a little bad about it.

-/-

“Late, newbie?” Montoya called as Tim raced into the office.

“Sorry, late night,” he answered, snagging her freshly made coffee.

She glared at him but didn't try to snatch it back. Despite being the senior partner, she had learned the hard way what might happen if someone took coffee from a tired Drake. “I heard. The Drake/Wayne charity is in the paper already,” she said.

Tim swallowed his mouthful and frowned. “What do you mean?”

A newspaper was tossed over to him. He glanced over it, taking in the headlines and story. “Millionaires and Billionaires find friendship?” He read allowed, arching his eyebrows. “Lonely, estranged son of the millionaire Jack Drake, Tim Drake finds a friend in the playboy, party kid Dick Grayson-Wayne…” Tim sighed, setting the stolen coffee down. “Can’t they find anything else to talk about?”

Montoya shook her head. “Sorry Lonely Estranged Drake. You’re their new ‘It’ baby. Solving murders left and right. About to close a new one and still having time to party. You’re the most interesting thing since the Clock King tried to ruin Christmas.”

“Great… This better not ruin my investigation," Tim mumbled, slumping into his desk chair.

“For your sake, it better not. Speaking of, the labs came back.”

Tim flipped through the paper, seeing what else was written about him. “Came back? Came back on what?”

“The blood samples from crime scenes one and two," Montoya answered, crossing her arms and leaning on her desk.

“Yeah? What do they say?” He asked, idly sipping his coffee.

Montoya waited until he was looking at her to answer. “Crime scene one has blood from two of the victims and an new character. A boy that’s been missing for six months.”

Tim went quiet.

“And considering how much and how old the blood, there is a very good chance that boy is dead.”

Tim cursed, gripping the weak, paper cup. “What about the second test?”

“Had blood from two victims, but no one new. The missing boy must have been the man’s first vic. He just didn’t leave the body behind.”

“Which probably means he was nervous after he killed. He hid the body but discovered he enjoyed murder. Hence the new ones. It would explain the time difference.” Tim slumped back in his seat, sliding down slightly. “And here I was having such a good morning.”

“Welcome to the real world, newbie. Now go make me a new cup of coffee.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Where are you headed off to?” Jim asked, leaning against the entrance to his office. He was passing a stack of reports to a beat cop just as he saw Tim preparing to take off.

Tim slipped on his jacket, only pausing to snag his keys off of his desk. “I’m going back to the first crime scene,” he answered, lifting his coffee as well.

Jim stared at him and, not the for the first time, considered the young man’s sanity. “Again? You’ve been there five times already. What do you expect to find this time?”

Tim dropped his keys into his pocket and hooked his gun into the holster. “Ask Montoya what the lab techs brought her. I have to get there before the cleaning crew shows up to the apartment.”

“Hey! I’m your boss, I question and you answer.”

“I did. Ask Montoya. By the way, don’t forget about your date tonight,” Tim called as he hurried out of the building.

Jim shook his head, unable to bring himself to be truly annoyed. He knew that once Tim was on something he was often too focused to notice the world around him. It was, at once, admirable and deeply irritating. 

“I won’t forget.” He turned. “Montoya! Tell me what you know!”

-/-

It was odd how just a couple weeks could change a place. Especially one that had only so recently been privy to mayhem and horror. And yet, the tiny single room apartment with the peeling paint and dirty windows looked like it was settling back into normalcy. The exact opposite of what Tim wanted.

“You best be out of here by three, Mr. Detective,” the seedy landlord informed him as he opened the door. "I have to get that apartment back on the market."

“I will. This won’t take me long.”

Tim closed and locked the door behind him, despite the landlord’s complaints. Pulling on a pair of gloves, he moved through the space.

Nothing had been moved and yet something felt off. He frowned, shifting past the ruined furniture. He stepped into the kitchen and started pulling open cabinets.

For two hours Tim searched through the kitchen and living room.

The first victim had literally been thrown about the place. When he’d first been through the rooms, it had taken a massive part of his day just to find and assemble all of the body parts. This time around, he wasn’t finding anything new. Everything was turned over or opened. He searched every corner that he possibly could. But there was nothing. Just the same dried blood, finger nail scratches and mess. Nothing was different, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling that he would find something this time.

Tim Drake was not a man who operated on ‘gut feelings’. He liked facts and knowing that something was certain. The nagging irritation that he’d missed something was nothing more that another tack to his headache. He sighed, shoulders slumping.

Kneeling in the middle of the bedroom floor, he rubbed his temples.

“You’re not going to be my Black Dahlia,” he muttered angrily.

Glaring at the floor, he almost missed the quiet knocking sound coming from the far wall. He paused, wondering if his own headache had reached an audible level. When a firm head shake didn’t dislodge the noise, he got to his feet and moved over to the wall.

“Hello?” He called, feeling ridiculous. He lowered one hand to the gun at his hip. He didn't like to use it, but if he had to he certainly would.

The knocking stuttered for a second and resumed.

Tim knocked on the wall.

The wall knocked back.

His eyebrows shot up and he blinked. “Hello?” He repeated, knocking again.

This time there was no answering knock but a harsh, frantic scattering.

Tim stepped back quickly, suddenly concerned for his own well being. But just as quickly as it had started it, it stopped. He frowned at the wall, wondering if he imagined it.

“Must be going crazy,” he mumbled, looking down.

That’s when he saw it, a piece of paper stuck in the molding of the wall. Looking around to make sure he was truly alone and gremlins hadn’t just popped by to drop it off, he knelt down again. He tugged the paper, working at it to make sure it didn’t tear. Getting it free, he unfolded it. The words didn’t get through right away but as his brain slowly processed it, his stomach dropped and his mouth went dry.

_'You’re getting in too deep Little Detective. You should be more careful. You don’t want to end up like the boy. Do you?’_


	11. Chapter 11

Going to the work for the next two days proved to be agonizing for Tim. He had the distinct feeling that he was being watch, nearly all the time. His apartment had become his only safe haven. Walking outside could mean torture or death. But he had work to do and he wasn’t going to stop now. It just meant that the walk took longer than usual. He had to stop every five minutes to look over his shoulder. His heart pounded in his ears and everyone looked like they were three seconds away from killing him. He kept the note in his pocket, praying that it was just a horrible prank. Some sick joke that was just supposed to put him on edge.

Even if he was very aware that he was being irrational, it was certainly working. In his defense, it was probably the first time he'd been threatened, potentially, by a murderer.

Thankfully everything looked much the same in the police station. His desk, messy as it was, had remained untouched. Even the half consumed cup off coffee was still there from yesterday. He looked around the room, trying to not look too paranoid. It was a surreptitious look he'd picked up recently and it suddenly explained why Jim Gordon refused to have his back to open doors.

“Hey, Drake, you okay?”

Tim jumped, whirling around to face Montoya.

The older woman frowned at him, dropping a hand to her hip. “Whoa there. Spin any faster and you could try out for the ballet. What’s wrong?”

Tim shook his head. “No, nothing. Sorry.” He dropped into his seat. “Just a bit jumpy, that’s all.”

“I’ll say. Did something happen?”

Tim hesitated. He had battled between keeping it secret or telling Montoya. Out of the entire police force, she was one of the few he trusted. Plus she had dealt with her fair-share of the psycho's of Gotham, both normal and costumed. In the end, he held the paper out to her.

Taking it from him she read it over. Lowering it to her desk, she looked up at Tim. “When and where did you get this?” She asked, face and voice instantly serious.

“Two days ago. From the apartment.”

“The first crime scene?”

Tim nodded.

“Hasn’t that been closed off?”

Tim shook his head, a margin of annoyance crossing his features. The PD had requested that the scene be cut off from access but the request had, clearly, been ignored. “No, not since the first week. The landlord wanted it open, so he could renovate it and resell," he explained.

Montoya snorted, handing the paper back. She turned toward her computer before speaking again, “Well, that’s just great. Tell Jim. He should know about this. Especially if it is the murderer playing games.”

Tim took the paper back and reread it for the hundredth time. He looked up at her, expression worried. “You don’t think it’s him, do you?”

Montoya took in the tension on Tim’s face. She sighed softly and reached across their joined desk to rest a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think so. But you can never be too careful,” she said and smiled reassuringly. “Why not tell Jim and then take the day off? You’ve been working nonstop on this case for almost three weeks.”

“Two and a half," he corrected without any real conviction.

“I said ‘almost’," Montoya repeated, eyebrow raised. She squeezed his shoulder and let go. “Take a break. Otherwise you’ll have a heart attack before you’re thirty.”

“I went to the charity,” he protested.

Montoya gave him a look that meant she clearly didn’t find that as much of a break. “Go on. Go home. Order Chinese food and hang out. I could call Kate. She makes a mean pound cake. She’ll bring it over to you.”

Tim shook his head lightly, giving in slowly. “No, it’s fine.” He sighed, tugging a hand through his hair.

At least if he was home he could work on the case without having to constantly look over his shoulder. And he could drink as much coffee as he wanted without someone starting to complain about heart-health.

“I’ll tell Jim and just go home," he admitted.

“Good. Give me the note and I’ll get the labs to look at it.”

Tim pushed out of his chair and handed her the note. “Thanks Renee. You’re a good officer.”

“Hey, just because I’m a cop doesn’t mean I have to be a total pig. Go on, get out of here before I change my mind.”

Tim gave her a small thankful smile and headed to Jim’s office. The commissioner gave him the same advice as Montoya--keep his head down, take a break and let the rest of the force handle it. Although, much to Tim's annoyance, Jim insisted that Tim put his work on hold and take a welled his break. He didn't let Tim leave until he agreed.

Keeping his gun with him, Tim tugged his jacket tight around himself and headed back home.

-/-

Walking home was just as disastrous as it had been for the past two days. While he’d tried to keep calm, it was like fighting a two ton rock monster. Every calming thought that was quickly followed by about ten horrified ones. His grip on his jacket was almost to tearing point and he kept himself close to the walls of dirty city buildings. He largely ignored the strangers around him, except for the ones that looked threatening. Which, in Gotham, was an unsurprisingly large amount of people.

“Just being paranoid, Drake,” he mumbled to himself.

Paused on the corner of Fifth and Parks, Tim caught another threatening stare. More out of a need to tell himself it wasn’t real than anything else, he looked back. The person didn’t disappear or look away. In fact, they stared straight at him and a slow, straggle toothed smile spread over it’s face.

Tim stared, eyes wide. He swallowed, opening his mouth but found himself unable to say or do something.

“Hey, move it will you?” A man grumbled, bumping his shoulder to get around him.

“Oh, sorry,” he muttered, hurrying over the crosswalk and to the apartment. When he'd reached the other side and had a chance to look around again, the man was no where to be found. Heart thudding in his throat, he all but ran all the way back home.

Suddenly it didn't feel all that delusion and instead was very real.

Only once the door had been locked and dead-bolted and all of the windows had been thoroughly checked, did Tim sit down on his couch with the television blaring. The noise helped drown out a little of the chaos in his head. He pulled his knees up to his chest.

And it was right at that moment that he remembered he was supposed to have met with Batman last night and probably should have tried to the find the man that had been openly staring at him, to see if he knew anything. But between the note and his own nerves, he'd failed. He groaned, forehead dropping onto his legs. 

There was no way he was leaving his apartment now. And he’d missed his one shot at getting their suspect.

“Sorry, Batman,” he whispered to his knees.


	12. Chapter 12

Dick frowned at his comm screen. As a general rule he rarely took time out of his work out to actually look at the comm screen--it was easier to let it buzz in the background--but Barbara’s words had been discomforting enough to yank his gaze.

“What do you mean he hasn’t left his apartment in three days?”

“Exactly that, boy wonder,” the former Batgirl answered. “Since you bailed out after the Charity, for reasons unknown, Bruce has had Steph watching over him.”

Judging from the eyebrow raise she was giving him, Babs could guess very easily as to what it was that took Dick out of the charity.

“Steph?” Dick repeated, dropping down to in front of the screen and totally ignoring her pointed look.

“Yes, Dick. Contrary to popular belief you’re not the only one who can do surveillance," Babs sighed.

Dick snorted, fully prepared to return to work. If Babs was throwing out small jibs, then it wasn't all that pressing. “Not what I meant. I just thought she was still in Hong Kong with Cass," he retorted, leaning back in his chair.

Barbara shook her head, her eyes shifted to something off the screen. “No, they finished their work awhile ago. Anyway, she’s reporting that the detective hasn’t left his apartment. And he missed his appointment with Batman.”

Dick let out a low, surprised whistle. “Oh man. Bruce must not have been happy about that.”

“No, he was not. But he gave my dad the tapes. So it worked out." Babs' shoulders lifted in a brief shrug. "Based on the work Tim and Bruce have been doing, they think they have the suspect narrowed down. They just aren’t totally sure. But since the crimes scenes are blocked and Tim hasn't been in, the case is at a stand-still."

Dick sighed, pushing his bangs out of his face. “And… What? You want me to check on him?”

“Basically. You’re the only one who has talked to him outside of the mask. It wouldn't be all that weird for you to show up at his apartment. So, get off your butt and go make a house call.”

“Come on, can’t Bruce or Steph?” Dick complained. Even if he did have some huge case on his plate, he still had a lot of work to do. Even if he did want to see Tim again, he would much rather see him of his own volition instead of a house-call from the Bat. Even if he was very worried about Tim's well being, it was the principle of the matter.

Barbara shook her head again, disapproving. “No. They can’t. Unfortunately, Bruce is working on two separate murders and one drug spree. Steph and Cass are gearing up to head back out to Hong Kong and then Bucharest afterwards.”

“I thought you said they were done," Dick grumbled, having already settled on the fact that he was going to Tim's.

“They are done. With the Ghost Dragons. Now they have to deal with Lynx and the aftermath. Now, go on. Get over there.”

The screen shut off and Dick knew he had no choice.

-/-

An hour later, Dick was pushing his hair back and knocking on a door he only faintly recognized. He argued with himself the entire way about whether or not it would even be appropriate to go. He hadn't even spoken with Tim since the morning after the charity, as Dick or Nightwing. Since that night he'd been far less inclined to spy on Tim as per Bruce's instructions.

“Hey Timmy, it’s me, Dick,” he called when there wasn’t an immediate answer.

“Are you alone?” Tim asked through the door after an extended silence.

Dick looked around, concerned. “Uh, yeah. I didn’t bring anyone.” He tilted his head toward the door when he heard a faint scuffling. The door opened and he stepped back, not bothering to hide his surprise. “Whoa… Hey there.”

Tim looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Truthfully, he hadn’t. His hair was a mess, face pale and clothes wrinkled. Every minute of sleep was capture by nightmares, making rest impossible. “Sorry,” he offered, quickly brushing his fingers through his hair and trying to tame it into something presentable. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah. I’m here to check on you. You never called me back after the, uh, charity," Dick answered, his words sounding flimsy even to his own ears.

Tim considered him, expression fairly blank. “You never gave me your number," he finally stated.

Dick blinked. “Oh, well, I can fix that.” He smiled winningly. “Can I come in?”

There was a slight pause before Tim pulled the door open further, letting him in. Dick stepped into the dark apartment, taking in the mess. Most of it seemed confined to the couch, with blankets, food containers and countless coffee mugs cluttered about it. Dick had no room to judge but he had to say he was still a little surprised. He almost didn't want to check the rest of the house.

“Nice place, you’ve got," he commented lightly.

“You’ve been here before,” Tim said as he moved through the rooms, turning on lights but refusing to open the window blinds.

“Well, yeah. Just kind of went through in a hurry.” Dick trailed behind Tim, wanting to make sure the young man was okay or, at the very least, marginally sane. He stopped by one of the few pictures on Tim's dresser. “Are these your parents?”

“Dad and step Mom,” he replied, pulling a sweater on to appear a little more acceptable. It wasn't much better than his ratty t-shirt considering that he'd snagged the sweater off of the floor.

Dick nodded, noticing belatedly that the woman looked nothing like Tim. “Right. They look nice.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “So, uh, how’s the case going?”

“Fine.” Tim’s face said it wasn’t going well at all. 

“Right…” Dick didn’t know what to say. He couldn't very well admit that the only reason he was here was because four separate members of the Bat-vigilante team had been keeping an eye on him. Nor did he know how to go back to the casual conversations they had had at the charity. Tim seemed pretty closed off at the moment and Dick couldn't tell if it was because if the one night stand or the case.

“You want to go get something to eat?” Dick asked.

When in doubt, go with food.

Tim glanced around the apartment. It was clear on his face that he was battling between choices. “Sure, I suppose,” he said, carefully.

Dick beamed. “Great. I know the best pizza joint. Get some shoes on. I’ll take you.”

It took shockingly less time than Dick expected to get Tim out of the apartment and into the real world. Getting him to the pizza place was a small hassle. Tim seemed hell bent on constantly back tracking, but Dick was always quick to catch his shoulders and keep him going forward. When they finally got to the restaurant, both were starved and one was keeping very good control over panic.

The meal passed quieter than Dick would have enjoyed. Tim wasn’t inclined to speak, but he was a very good listener. He nodded and asked questions at all the right times in Dick’s stories. There was a distinct feeling that Tim's questions were just barely scratching the surface of what he knew and what he was interested in. If Dick didn’t know better, he would say Tim knew more than he let on. Which made sense, he was a detective. It just didn’t make him feel much better.

“So, still hungry or do you want me to take you home?” Dick asked after he’d finished his third slice of pizza.

“I’d like to go home,” Tim answered, he’d stopped after the first piece.

Dick sighed quietly and nodded. “Why don’t you wait for me outside? I have to pay.”

A very brief expression of fear shot over Tim’s features, but it was quickly schooled he nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He pushed out of the booth and moved outside.

Dick watched him for a moment, following his movements outside. His gaze was caught by a rather smarmy looking fellow in a hoodie. He frowned at the figure but got up to pay anyway. Just after he handed the cash over, his phone went off.

“Hello?” He answered, mouthing an apology to the woman at the cash register. She only shook her head, offer him a smile.

“We’ve ID’d the murderer," Barbara answered without a greeting.

Dick rolled his eyes, rather used to the lack of warm hellos. It was a constant trait in nearly every member of the vigilante community. 

“Yeah? That’s good.” Dick slipped his hand into the pocket of his jeans and turned. He looked out the window at Tim, who was leaning against the window's frame with his arms crossed.

“Yeah, I just sent you a photo. Be on the look out. And where’s Tim? I noticed he wasn’t in his apartment.”

Dick had to pause in response when the young woman behind the counter had to speak with him again. He turned back toward the counter, briefly looking away from Tim.

"I am so sorry," she said quietly, not wanting to interrupt his phone call. "I have to run in the back for just a moment to grab some quarters for your change.

Dick shook his head, offering her an encouraging smile. He watched her scuttle off. His phone beeped at him, signaling the arrival of Babs' picture.

“I took him out to lunch," he told her. "Hold on, I just got the photo.” 

Dick pulled the phone away from his ear and clicked for the picture. As soon as it loaded, he went still, eyes widening. He knew that face. He’d just seen it and that made his blood run cold. He spun on his heel to face the window. Not seeing Tim immediately he hurried out the door, searching. “Tim?” He called, not finding the other male. “Shit. Babs!”

“What? What’s wrong?” Babs urged.

“Your killer, I just saw him.”

Barbara was quiet a second. “Tell me the second half of that statement," she demanded.

“I think… I think he just got Tim.”


	13. Chapter 13

“I told you to stop, Little Detective. I even watched you to make sure you didn’t continue. And now everyone knows who I am.”

Tim shifted, groaning at the pain in his temples. He was sure he hadn't been out for more than a half hour but it was still enough time to totally throw off him off balance and into chaos. He tried moving his arms but didn’t get very far. Bound at the wrist, every movement was only rewarded with the sharp sting of rope pulling over skin. He winced, glancing briefly over his shoulder at his hands as if they were the source of all his troubles--he wasn't technically wrong.

“Now, now. Don’t struggle too much. It doesn’t help you any.”

“Who are you?” Tim demanded, twisting in his chair to try and find the origin of the voice.

“Isn’t it obvious? I am the man you’ve been hunting.”

A sharp, cruel face came into view. The smile was twisted, unnatural; matched with bright eyes that were far too dark to be human. Long, spindled fingers curled tightly around a jagged knife. Just staring at him made Tim cold all over. He fought chills but there was no denying that he was staring at the face of a killer. A man so disconnected from life his own body didn't even both to try and fit in anymore.

Tim swallowed, willing his heart rate down. He glared at the man. “What do you want from me?” He demanded.

The smile widened to a point that should have made any sane human’s face hurt. “I want you to stop bothering me. You’ve made it so hard to find new toys. They’re all so scared to leave their homes. And it’s making me so lonely," the man whined in a high, reedy voice.

Tim growled, the pain and confusing making him more frustrated than afraid. “They’re people not play things,” he hissed.

The knife glinted as it shifted, quieting Tim’s next words. “You’re right. They were all pretty boring. Only people are boring, never toys. They all begged and pleaded too much. Not fun at all. But you… You’re fighting. That’s fun.”

Tim shook his head, pulling at his bonds again. “You’re sick,” he spat. “Twisted and fucked up.”

He laughed. “I’ve heard that once or twice.” He watched as Tim struggled, eyes widening was the rope burned flesh. “Makes me far more interesting than the rest of the bugs crawling around.”

“Stop saying shit like that! We’re people! Not bugs or toys or things you can throw away. You’re not a god. You’re just a man with issues," Tim snapped, stilling his movements when the rope started to cut into his skin too much.

The smile dropped. And that was worse to see than the fake glee. The man’s foot shot out, knocking the chair backward, sending Tim crashing to the floor. “I am more than a man,” he stated.

Tim's arms screamed at the sudden, hard bend. The worst part was the back of his skull cracking against the ground. It made his teeth rattle and his stomach lurch. If he made it out, he was going to need a good, long nap.

Tim’s vision swam, trying to focus. He tried to shake his head to get rid of the fuzziness but had to stop when that only made it worse. Belatedly, he realized that the man had crouched down over him, practically straddling his chest in his closeness. With only scant inches between them, he could smell the man's laundry soap and an under-lying tinge of dirt.

“N-no. You’re less than a man," he ground out.

A sharp breath was pulled in above him and the next thing Tim knew was earth shattering pain. The knife bit into his shoulder, sinking under his collar bone. He shrieked, jerking despite all his training telling him not to.

“More than a man! And I’m going to show you exactly what I did to all those other toys," the man promised in a dripping, sweet voice.

The knife was jerked down, tearing muscles and skin. Tim screamed, the metal pulling more pain out of him than he’d ever known. At that moment he was sure he'd much rather take a bullet than ever see a knife again. “No! Stop!” He gasped, unable to stop the crack in his voice.

The man huffed a laugh. “Not so ready to fight now, are you? Well, you’re in my world now. Here I am God and you are the toy I am free to play with.” He let go of the knife to trailed his nails over Tim’s cheek. “I can’t wait.”

Tim’s head pounded, throat tight and heart racing. “Get off of me!”

The nails sunk into his cheek, threatening to pull out chunks. “You do not command me.”

-/-

“Have you found them yet?”

“No,” Dick snapped into his comm. “It took Batman two full weeks to even ID the guy and you expect me to find him in an hour?”

“Yes, I do, Brat Wonder,” Barbara retorted. “And don’t take that tone with me. You’re the one who lost Tim in the first place.”

Dick groaned, stomach turning flips. “I know. God, I hope he’s okay," he whispered. He was sure that if he hadn't tried to get Tim to leave his apartment in the first place, he would have been fine. 

The worst thing to do in his line of work was to try to question or blame past actions but he couldn't help himself. In the short time he'd been following and talking to the young man, he'd grown more attached than he thought he possibly could. He wanted, needed to see Tim safe again. Both for his own sanity and comfort and for the knowledge of a job well done.

“Don’t hope. Search," Barbara cut into his thoughts, cold and efficient.

Going quiet, Dick launched off the roof top. He needed to find Tim and soon. If the detective died, Dick would never forgive himself.

-/-

Burning metal slid under Tim’s skin, slicing through the muscle of his thigh. His throat was ragged and hoarse from screams. Everything hurt. His arms, legs, stomach, everything was on fire with pain. He didn’t think the human body could endure this much. It had gotten to the point he wasn't even sure what was being cut anymore.

There was a small pause as the knife was pulled away from his skin. It brought his brain to a calm he hadn’t had in the last hour. It sunk into it, clung to it as he reoriented himself.

“You wish to know the best part?” The man pondered, tapping the blood stained knife against his lower lip.

Tim shook his head, mute. He was breathing heavily throw his nose, eyes narrowed. He couldn't bring himself to snap at the man but he could certainly still glare. He still had that on his side.

Except it only seemed to amuse the man. He lowered the knife to lightly poke his nose as if it was a lover's kiss.

“It’s been two hours and no one has come to look for you. They must not care,” he said, huffing cruel laughter. “Such is the way of would-be heroes.” His words teased and cut like the knife. He was doing it on purpose, trying to break Tim both mind and body. 

As much as Tim hated to admit it, he was starting to believe the man. He'd been with Dick. Dick had been just inside the pizza shop when he'd been snagged and yanked into a dirty van. Yet, two hours later, no Dick was to be found. Tim couldn't fathom what the delay was but it was plaguing his thoughts.

In his distraction, he didn't notice the knife being moved down to his ribs. The metal dragged down and he was suddenly very aware of it again as it bit into his skin and threatened to hit his lungs. Tim’s cry was drowned out by the man’s laughter.

-/-

Dick stopped, panting. He'd been running full-tilt for what felt like years but it seemed to finally be worth it. His gaze fixed on a run down brownstone just across the street from him. Outside was a worker's van with a faded logo for a repair company on the side. It was the same van Bruce had sent him photos of. The place was eerily quiet and it only made him silently prey that Tim was still alive. 

“Oracle,” he breathed, steeling himself. “I think I found them.”

“Well get in there and check!”

Dick didn't need to be told twice.


	14. Chapter 14

Dick launched off of his perch and landed on the roof of the brownstone. 

It was an unassuming building on a street full of unassuming buildings. In the back of his mind he was disturbed to find the potential murderer's house in such a simple, cheerful neighborhood. Dealing with the crazies of Bludhaven made him believe that the worst were always easy to spot. Back in Gotham, chasing after a too-smart, too-attractive detective that he'd let fall into said murderer's hands was not how he wanted to be reminded that that was not always the truth.

As silently as possible he wrenched one of the upper windows open and slipped inside. He stopped in what looked like a bedroom and looked around. There was no sign of Tim and no blood. The room looked as if it hadn't been touched in years, if the faded, slightly yellowed bed coverings were anything to go by. He tried not to take that as a bad sign. There was an entire house to search before he would be forced to admit that he'd gotten the wrong house.

Dick stayed silent, moving out of the room and into the dank, narrow hall beyond. It was cryptically quiet and cold. There wasn't even a hint that anyone had set foot in the house in the last twenty years. The pictures on the walls and the carpet both were dusty. None of the doors opened to any scene that was useful. An unused bathroom, a messy office with cobwebs and dusty lamps and a master bedroom with no furniture--none of it helped him find Tim. He needed something, anything to know that Tim was alive.

And he got it, in the worst way possible. A sharp wail that could only come from extreme pain, echoed up to him through the floorboards. Dick had to make sure his heart was still in his chest before he continued moving.

Even after years on the streets, Dick had never gotten used to the sounds of pain and horror. It made his stomach drop every time. Knowing that it was someone he knew, someone he had taken in a strong interest in and someone that he had let get into a terrible situation only made his entire body seize.

With the sound of his own heart beat urging him on, Dick’s legs worked harder than he felt they ever had before. He kept going down and it seemed impossible that any normal house should have that many stairs. An empty house with no one to live and enjoy it, shouldn't feel like such a huge maze.

Finally, after what he was sure an eternity, he reached the basement door. Just beyond the scratched, worn wood he could hear the distinctive wet, sound of something being pulled from flesh followed by a hard cackle that wouldn't haven been out of place when fighting The Joker. Dick didn’t hesitate to slam it open, practically leaping down the narrow stairs just behind it. But he had to pause at the sight he was greeted with at the bottom. Tim, battered and bloodied lay tangled awkwardly with a wooden chair, harsh ropes and a gaunt, hunched man with too many teeth and over-bright eyes.

“Feel good, little detective?” The man taunted, crouched over Tim like a grotesque mannequin. His knife was poised over Tim’s left eye, ready to take it’s vision.

Both stopped when Dick crashed into the dingy basement and turned to stare at him. It was almost cartoonish in its movements. Had it been any other time or any other person, Dick probably would have commented. As it was, his attention was too focused for humor.

Tim’s face went through a somersault of emotions, all tainted by the thick spread of blood spilling from his cheek.

The man’s eyes widened and his gaze snapped back to Tim, suddenly demonic in it's fury. “You..?” His hand dropped to curl around Tim’s throat, knife still dangerously close to his wide eye. “When did you call him?”

Tim choked, the grip too tight for him to find words or air. He didn't even try to offer any answer. He looked like he'd rather spit on the man.

Dick’s mind snapped back into gear. “Back off!” He snarled, kicking out at the man. His foot connected with the man’s chin, making teeth click and break. A dark part of him was glad to see his head snap back and an even darker part wished that it had broken his neck.

The man let out a shrieking noise, toppling to the side. His grip on the knife didn't relent and he scrambled to his feet. He wasn’t offered much of a chance to fight back. Dick launched forward, easily stepping over Tim as snagged his shirt and twisted him around, throwing him bodily away from Tim. He crashed into the far wall, crumpling to the floor.

In an instant Dick turned back and dropped down next to Tim. “Shit,” he breathed, shifting the smaller man onto his side so he could get the bonds. “I am so sorry. I’m here now. You’re going to be okay.”

Tim opened his mouth to say something but stopped when his gaze landed on something just over Dick's shoulder. He squirmed, almost throwing Dick's hands off of him. When he found his words he gasped out, “Dick! Look out!”

Dick’s head jerked to the side only narrowing avoiding the knife as the man tried to stab into his neck. He hadn’t expected his name but he knew a warning when it happened. His hand shot up, catching the murderer’s wrist bending it back. He stood up, foot sweeping out to knock the man's knees out from under him. He bore down on the skeletal form easily over powering him as he smashed him to the ground.

A whimper escaped the man's throat and he dropped the knife to weakly cover his face. He cringed as Dick lifted his hand in a sure punch.

“What? You can dish it out but you can’t take it? You’re pathetic,” Dick spat, more enraged than he ever had been. His fist swung forward, slamming into the man’s nose and rewarding him with the crunch of cartilage and sinew.

Dick didn’t know how many times his fist moved. All he knew was that all of the fear and anger over losing Tim was flooding through him. The horror at finding so much blood, so much of Tim’s blood, fueled his movements. He never wanted to see that much pain in Tim again. It was like losing Jason, like every victim he'd ever been too slow to save.

“Dick. Dick, please, you’ll kill him,” Tim rasped out.

The words cut through Dick’s haze and he stopped. He dropped the man, stepping back. His throat was dry and, for a second, he couldn't quite focus on the pulpy mess that lay before him. Then he heard Tim pull in a choked breath behind him. He’d deal with that mess later. There were far more important things.

“Tim, don’t talk,” he answered, turning back to him and kneeling beside him. He hauled Tim up against him as gently as he could, realizing, not for the first time, how much smaller Tim's body was in his arms. “Oracle. Get Batman. I am going to need help getting Tim out of here.”

“Shouldn’t I call an ambulance?”

“No,” Dick answered, harsh. “I’m not letting him out of my sight again. I can’t.”

Babs quieted for a moment, finding something in his tone but it was impossible to say what, exactly. “Batman is on his way. He’ll be there in five minutes," she said, quiet and reassuring.

Dick curled his arms tight around Tim, tucking him close and practically burying his face in his hair. “I am so sorry, Tim,” he mumbled. He’d never felt so guilty in his life.

“It’s okay,” Tim reassured, resting a hand on Dick’s arm. “You got here just in time. And I didn’t even need your number.”

A surprised laugh escaped Dick. He didn't think he'd ever been so light with relief in his life.


	15. Chapter 15

The next time Tim opened his eyes, it was to a ceiling he didn’t recognize. For a moment he thought it might have been a hospital ceiling, considering how clean it was. But hospitals didn’t have that kind of fancy molding and gold gilding, no matter how much money was donated to it. He frowned and tried sitting up.

“Ah, you’re awake,” an elderly voice said to his left. A thin, yet firm hand dropped on his shoulder, keeping him from moving. “Forgive me, sir. But you must continue to rest. You took some serious damage.”

“Who..?” Tim stared at the prim, older man. His thoughts were fuzzy and slow. It was taking a lot of effort for him to process the space around him. He was sure a lot of pain killers were running through his system but he was still very sure that he knew the face of the man above him.

“I am Alfred Pennyworth, butler to Bruce Wayne. You are at Wayne Manor,” Alfred explained as efficiently as possible.

“I’m at…” The words clicked after a second and now he knew why Alfred looked so familiar. Tim turned his head, looking around again. “How long have I been out? Do the police know?"

“You have been unconscious for only a day, sir. Thankfully, most of your wounds weren't terribly deep and the medicine allowed your body time to rest.” Alfred pulled his hand from Tim’s shoulder and straightened up. “Commissioner Gordon has been informed of your safety, although, admittedly, he believes that you are at your father's home being cared for one, Mrs. MacPherson, while your father is in Jordon."

Tim starred at the quick, efficient answer. It was a little hard for him to keep up with but another question was burning in the back of his mind. One that would plague him until he had a satisfactory answer.

"Michael Wilson, the monster behind your injuries, was handed over to police custody by Batman. He is in Arkham awaiting official charges," Alfred said, as if reading Tim's thoughts.

Tim's shoulders sagged in a relief so deep, he thought he would pass out in bliss. The man had been caught and was behind bars. The case against him was too strong for him to ever get out. All the aches and stitches on his body had been totally worth it, if it meant the madman was off the streets.

"I shall inform the masters that you are awake," Alfred said quietly.

Before Tim could get another word out, Alfred swept out of the room. Tim tried to relax against the disturbingly comfortable pillows. The pillows on his own bed were lumpy and weak compared to the clouds he was currently resting on. He lifted a hand to his head, finding stitches over his cheek and a bruise on his temple. Foolishly, he pressed on it and winced. 

"Stupid," he mumbled--the list of things to call himself stupid over was too long to count at the moment. He shut his eyes again and dropped his head back with a heavy sigh.

The memories flicked back slowly. The more that came back, the less he wanted them.

The only good thing had been when it ended. When Dick...

“Tim! You’re awake!” Dick popped through the door, face bright. He looked frazzled, disoriented. Especially when compared to the stern posture of the man behind him.

Dick rushed to Tim’s bed but stopped just beside it. He hovered over Tim, looking deeply unsure as to what he should do with himself. “How do you feel?” He asked, sounding uncomfortable and worried.

“Uh, all right, I guess,” Tim said, squinting up at Dick.

“Well enough to answer questions?” The second man, Bruce Wayne, asked. There wasn't a hint of the infamous play-boy lingering in his sharp features. It was all Bat and Tim could suddenly understand why the criminal underground feared Gotham's dark knight. The intensity of his stare alone could stop a person's heart.

Dick shot Bruce a look, clearly unaffected by the weight of the stare. “You said you’d wait," he huffed.

Bruce’s shoulders lifted in the tiniest shrug in existence. “He has the option to say no," he said simply but there was a hint in his voice that suggested that Tim most certainly did not have the option to say no.

Tim looked between them, wondering what was going on. What questions did he need to answer? It would be best to get it over with, he decided. A death at the hands of the Bat-glare was probably swifter than knife torture. He cleared his throat, drawing both of their gazes. 

"I," he started in a squeak. He cleared his throat for a second time and tried again, “I can answer questions.”

“How did you know Dick’s name when he was Nightwing?” Bruce asked before Tim had even finished speaking.

That should have been expected, although Tim couldn't quite remember when he admitted that he knew Dick's secret. It must have happened in the basement or in a half pain-killer induced state. 

Despite Dick’s motions not to, Tim sat up and leaned back against the pillows. “It takes awhile to explain," he answered carefully, figuring he would have to tell Bruce the whole story.

“We have time,” Bruce replied, pulling up a chair for himself. Dick seemed determined to stay next to Tim's bed. “Go ahead.”

Tim nodded, taking a steadying breath. His hands curled in the sheets. A cut on the back of his hand protest the action but he couldn't loosen his grip. “I know who Nightwing is, because I figured out who Robin was when I was thirteen. Then it was only a hop, skip and a jump to Batman.”

Equal expressions of shock dropped over Dick and Bruce’s face. Whatever they had been expecting that hadn’t been it. Bruce nodded at him to explain more and Tim launched into explaining.

He started with the circus, meeting Dick for the first time and the special flip that only the Grayson’s knew. After their murders, Tim had decided that he would become a detective to stop future murders--to make sure no one else lost their parents like Dick. He’d gotten so focused on detective work, that Batman became his role model and he collected everything he could on Gotham’s Dark Knight. When Robin showed up, it was just another person to research.

It only changed when the grainy footage on the news showed a flip that only a certain circus family knew. It had changed his perspective entirely. Now, instead of being shadowy, unknown figures for him to idolize, they were real people for him to learn from to grow from. At nine, Tim had figure out Robin's secret and he needed to figure out Batman's as well.

After that, it only took a small amount of hacking and delving into personal finance files to figure out just what Bruce Wayne, eccentric billionaire, was spending his money on. He admitted that it took a couple weeks for him to find the evidence he really needed to solidify his theory. From there he took to following the dynamic duo through the streets of Gotham. It was only through pure luck that Tim caught Batman with out the cowl and proved, for himself, that Bruce was the infamous vigilante.

Explaining took the better part of two hours. Bruce would stop him to ask a few careful questions but barely let on about how he felt about the situation. Although Dick had to go on a minor rant about the safety of a small child sneaking around Gotham at night to follow two people whose entire job was running into dangerous. The irony of the rant was a little amusing to Tim. 

By the time he finished explaining his confusion as to the identity of the second Robin, the female Robin and the newest Robin, his throat was sore and he was tired again.

Alfred, who had shown up half way through, pressed a glass of water into his hand.

Tim gratefully accepted the drink and quickly swallowed the cool liquid.

“I have a question,” Dick spoke up from beside Tim--he had finally decided to sit on the edge of the bed. Despite his initial rant on child-safety, he had been surprisingly quiet through Tim's explanation. Now he stared at Tim with the same focus that Bruce had. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Tim rested the water glass between his legs, hands locked around it. “Why would I? You two were finally doing something good for Gotham. The last thing I wanted was to see that end.”

Bruce sat back in his chair, elbow on the arm rest as he leaned his chin against his hand, one finger resting over his lips. It was a very pensive, thoughtful pose as he evaluated the young man before him. “So you joined the task force under the pretense that you were going to catch Batman’s identity..."

There was a question there but Bruce wasn't going to voice it. He was going to leave it in Tim's hands to explain further.

Tim nodded, starring at his water. He couldn't remember the last time he had spoken so much. Yet he couldn't find it in himself to be upset about it. A huge weight was being lifted off of his shoulders. 

“Right," he continued, "I figured if anyone got close to something, I could change the clues or negate them. Most of the task force, Gordon included, think I'm on the 'Hates Masks' side.” But I had to make myself seem reliable before anyone would bother to believe me." 

“Hence six solved murders in two years,” Dick told Alfred, who looked a little amused at the pride in Dick's voice.

“Only two of which he needed Batman’s help on, yes I know, Master Richard,” Alfred returned.

A long silence dropped over them. Tim sipped his water, doing his best to avoid looking at anyone. Bruce considered everything he had heard and the abilities of Timothy Drake. And Dick pondered to himself just what Tim Drake, the tiny, efficient detective really meant to him.

“You’re on our side then,” Bruce spoke. It was another not-question that promised a world of terror if Tim didn't give Bruce the answer he wanted.

Tim nodded again, meeting Bruce's gaze without hesitation. “Especially now. I wouldn’t be alive, if not for Nightwing or rather, Dick.”

Dick grinned, rubbing his cheek. “Aw shucks,” he joked.

Bruce shook his head, standing. He straightened his turtle neck and awkwardly patted Tim’s knee. “It’ll be good to have you on our side. You’ve already proven yourself to be a valuable asset.” Bruce removed his hand and stepped back.

A quietly pleased smile crossed his features. It was one thing to have the media call him a good detective. It was something else entirely to have Bruce Wayne, Batman himself, call him valuable.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, sheepish.

Dick chuckled. “I’ll introduce you to Barbara. You’ll get along with her great.”

Tim nodded. He wasn't entirely sure who Barbara was but if they were someone else who worked with Batman, he was sure they had to be good. Besides, he would meet every single person on the Bat-roster with a huge smile, if it meant he could work with them again.

“After rest,” Alfred cut in, eyebrow rest. It was clear he disapproved of even the past two hours of interrogation. “He’s had a trying few days.”

Only once he had gotten Dick's acquiescence did Alfred step back. He promised to be back with food for Tim before he removed himself from the room once more.

There was only a short pause before Bruce left as well, closing the door behind him. Dick remained behind, sitting comfortably beside Tim.

“I need to thank you for saving me,” Tim said after the door had been closed, gaze trained on the door.

Dick nodded, expression grave. “Yeah, you do,” he agreed cheekily.

Tim rolled his eyes, amusement settling into his features. “What can I do for you?” He asked.

Dick was thoughtfully quiet for a long moment. Then he moved a little closer to Tim, one hand resting beside Tim's hip. He lifted his other once to rest on Tim's thigh. “Well… I’ve decided I really like your smile. So, if you save that, just for me. Consider yourself paid off," he said, tone light but sweet in a way Tim didn't think that words could be.

Tim stared at him, trying to parse through the sentences. Slowly, his face, bruised and bandaged as it was, shifted into a smile. “Okay. I think I can do that.”

“Good.” Dick leaned forward to press a light kiss to Tim’s lips. “You’re welcome, then. Tiny Detective.”

Dick had to quickly pull back when Tim tried to take a swing at his shoulder. He gave a taunting laugh as Tim glared at him, bemoaning the terrible nickname.


	16. Chapter 16

“Newbie, your guy is going to trial," Montoya called to him, carrying a stack of reports. She passed them off to a beat cop who looked a little surprised to be handed such a huge pile. She dropped down at her desk, smiling at Tim.

Tim looked away from his computer, eyebrow raised. “When are you going to stop calling me newbie?” He asked, lifting his coffee for a sip.

“When you get older than me,” Montoya replied, shuffling some papers around on her desk. “Which, I don’t see happening any time soon.”

“In a town where the Clock King and Calendar Man are serious threats, I wouldn’t talk so lightly about age.”

Montoya paused, considering that then she chuckled with a small nod. “I guess that’s true. So, you going to his trial?” She asked, tone still deceptively light but the way she carefully avoided looking at the stitches on Tim's face and hands were sign enough that she was worried about him.

Tim hesitated, thinking. “I don’t know," he admitted slowly. He lifted hand to his shoulder, rubbing it absently. His collarbone was still bothering him, more than he cared to admit. “I should. Just to see it through…”

Montoya watched him for a moment, gaze sharp and focused. “I’d say go for it. Considering what he did,” she said, nodding toward his shoulder. "It'd be best to see it through to the end. At least for me."

Tim pursed his lips, lowering his hand back down to the desk. He took in a breath, already agreeing with her before he'd consciously thought about it. After every nightmare he'd fought with himself on what he should do. Going to trial and seeing the man be put away would be thrilling and satisfying but having to face him would drag everything back up to the surface. He was had been asked to testify but the DA had promised him that he might not ever go on the stand.

With the trial starting that very day and no summons on his desk, he had to assume the DA had kept her word and kept him out of the court. It was blessing in more ways than one.

“Yeah? Maybe. I don’t have any cases right now anyway," he said, frowning at his suspiciously empty in-box. He had the feeling that since he'd returned from mandatory leave, the other officers had taken to keeping the heavier cases off his desk. So far all he'd come across was a purse-snatcher that he'd finished within the day.

“Good choice. Take your boyfriend with you. The media would have a field day.”

Tim’s face reddened and he spluttered. “I don’t want them to know!”

Montoya snorted, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Please. He’s not very subtle.”

Tim opened his mouth to try and defend his honor when a loud, cheerful shout cut him off.

“Timmy!” Dick shouted clear across the precinct, drawing more than one curious gaze.

“Speaking of," Montoya whispered, smirking.

Tim moaned softly, burying his face in his hands. “Yes, Dick?” He replied as the man flounced over to him, carrying a paper bag.

“Come on, Timmy. It’s our lunch date.”

“Lunch date?”

Dick looked affronted, lifting his free hand to his chest. He looked to Montoya. “Three months into our relationship and he already doesn’t remember important things. What a guy thing to do, am I right?"

Montoya stifled her laughter as she hunched over her reports and avoided Tim's glare entirely.

“Okay, okay, I remember,” Tim urged, shushing him. “Do you have to be so loud?” He asked, face very red.

Dick huffed. “I’m not loud.” He crossed his arms, turning his nose up. “Fine, I can see you don’t want me. I’ll just go and enjoy this Chinese food on my own.”

Tim perked up slightly, ignoring the rest of Dick's words. “Chinese food?”

Dick nodded, still not looking at him. “That’s right. Your favorite, beef and broccoli with those funny nut things," he complained, still quite loudly.

Despite all efforts on both Tim and Bruce's part, the newspapers had still caught wind of the budding romance between the Drake and Wayne houses. Another famous play-boy tempered by a level-headed cop, or so the papers said. If anything Dick was the one keeping Tim balanced. Between his need for fun-outings and his night life, Dick kept Tim centered and reminded him to ease away from work every once in awhile. Besides, he had been there since the basement and helped him through the worst of the pain and memories. He could take a little loudness and a lot of paparazzi snooping if it meant he could keep Dick around.

Tim bit his lower lip, glancing around the precinct--quite a few officers were openly grinning at him while a couple others were smothering their amusement behind work. “Okay, I’m sorry I forgot. I’d still like to go," he said, quietly and gently.

Dick looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Mean it?”

Tim nodded quickly.

Dick beamed, he swooped down and dropped a kiss to Tim’s mouth before he could protest. “Come on then. I’ve got the perfect place picked out.”

The grin only widened when Tim narrowed his eyes at him.

“Where?” Tim asked, interested despite himself as he pushed up from his desk and dropped his keys into his pocket.

Dick’s hand dropped to curl around Tim’s, tugging him out of the police station. Behind them, he could hear a couple of his fellows openly laugh while Montoya dramatically reenacted Dick's entrance. 

“Top of Wayne Tower," Dick answered once he'd gotten Tim outside. "It’s the best view in the whole city. You’ll love it.”

A small, private smile crossed Tim’s features. “I’m sure I will.”

-/-

From up on the roof of Wayne Tower, Tim and Dick listened to the trial of Michael Wilson, suspected murderer of six victims and an attempted murder on a police detective. Dick had given him a sophisticated ear piece that had sound so clear he was practically in the court room itself.

The trial was a surprisingly short process, with so few witnesses actually on the stand and with so much expert testimony, the defense's attempt to plea insanity was blown out of the water. Although it still felt like an age to Tim and guilt ribbed at him for not taking the stand himself. His stomach tightened, threatening to lose the lunch and snacks Dick had brought him, as he listened to the prosecutor recount his own torture. The wire-tight tension in his body was only eased slightly when Dick dragged him close and held him tight.

They were both quiet as the jury announced their decision.

Dick’s hand was tight, almost crushing around Tim’s.

“We, the Jury of Gotham Court, find the defendant Michael Wilson guilty of six accounts of first degree man slaughter. And guilty on premeditated murder on a member of the Gotham City police.”

Neither one knew who let out the breath of relieve, just that they both felt it.

“I told you he’d be found guilty,” Dick murmured, burying his face in Tim's hair.

“Yeah, I know,” Tim sighed. He rested against Dick, finally able to relax. He closed his eyes, listening to the city rumble below them and Dick's heart beat beside him. “Thank you.”

“Remember, your smiles are thanks enough.”


End file.
